


Elastic Heart

by hid4n



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Open to Interpretation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-12
Updated: 2015-04-12
Packaged: 2018-03-22 13:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3731023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hid4n/pseuds/hid4n
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard being the team captain, and it's even harder when you're in charge of a guy who could be your prehistoric mascot. To make matters even WORSE, it's absolutely impossible to ignore him and his lack of grooming habits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elastic Heart

**Author's Note:**

> I came to the Eyeshield 21 party pretty late, but at least I'm contributing. Have some cute, domestic interaction between these two~

“Gaou.”

The normally cool tone of the Hakushuu Dinosaurs’ quarterback was syrupy as he purred his teammate’s name, trying to coax him closer. A considerable distance spanned between them, making his goal more than unattainable. Inconspicuously twirling a hairbrush behind his back while nursing a bottle of soda in his other hand, Marco allowed a sly smile to creep across his features. His thin eyebrows shifted down while the corners of his lips twisted up, eyes brightening in genuine interest.

There was a response, but it was less a word of the human language and more a grunt of absent inquiry. His broad back was facing Marco, knees bent and head tilted down at an odd angle to stare fiercely at something on the ground. He had changed out of his uniform and was now wearing a thin, gray hoodie over a tight black shirt with the sleeves torn off. It was typical of his usual outfit: he often wore dark clothes that seemed to compliment his tanned skin. Absently, Marco wondered if he picked out his own clothes or if someone else did – it must be a pain to find anything large enough to fit his huge body... Just the mere thought made Marco’s eye twitch in apparent distress.

“Let’s go to the locker room, I want to ask something of you.” Even after he spoke, Gaou didn’t move from his spot at first, sending a subtle jolt of anticipation down Marco’s spine. Perhaps Gaou was in a bad mood after their practice? The thought made goosebumps prickle over Marco’s pale skin, his jaw setting roughly behind his now-stiff smile. It’d be better to toss his idea in the trash for the day if that was the case; Marco wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about the idea of going home with a few broken bones.

Suddenly the warmth of the sun disappeared and was replaced with cool shade, forcing Marco’s eyes to return to his teammate, who was towering above him, still facing away. “I was just in there, y’know,” Gaou grumbled lowly, sticking his little finger in one ear and twisting it while he lumbered toward the locker room. Resisting the urge to breath a sigh of relief, Marco ambled after him, fingers still tightly wrapped around hairbrush behind his back.

The door creaked loudly in protest as Gaou jerked it open a little too roughly – he ignored it, but Marco glanced at the hinges that were just barely clinging to the frame in passing as he walked through the doorway and sighed internally. That would be the third time this week they’d have to ask for a replacement. _That Gaou… He needs to be more careful, I’d say..._ Shaking his head lightly, Marco crept into the room and waited for his eyes to adjust to the sudden dimness of the building.

“You needed something?” The gruff question was hardly that, rather sounding like an accusation in the rough tone of Gaou’s voice, but it was enough to prompt Marco. Taking a quick swig of his soda and setting the bottle aside on a table set near the doorframe, he slowly walked up to Gaou, who had his thick arms crossed over his chest, suggesting impatience. _Like you have anywhere to go_ , Marco thought, flaring his nostrils skeptically at the unimpressive show before him. Nevertheless, he smiled in a carefree way and raised his hands to his the height of his shoulders, shrugging in a relaxed manner.

“I thought I’d brush your hair today. It’s been quite a while since the last time I did, and your hair tends to get pretty tangled when I don’t brush it for you.” Clasped in Marco’s right hand was a brand new hairbrush, looking oddly too large in comparison to his thin fingers.

Gaou’s eyes shifted slowly to the brush in Marco’s hand, staring it for an indefinite amount of time before he closed his eyelids and turned his head, emitting a loud cracking noise from his neck in the empty room. Marco flinched, not having been prepared for the monstrous sound that he had heard on numerous occasions before but couldn’t seem to get used to no matter how many times. Dubiously, he let his arms lower to his sides, brush still in hand. He wasn’t exactly sure if that was supposed to be Gaou’s reply or if he was simply doing it out of mere desire – it could be a little difficult to determine the difference between the two. Considering Marco probably spent the most time with Gaou out of their entire team, though, being their team captain, it had to be even more difficult for other people to figure out his intentions.

“You know I can’t stand when it gets this bad…” Marco swallowed the lump that had started to rise in his throat and stepped forward, closing the gap between him and Gaou. His left arm raised again, this time in front of him, and slightly quivering fingers reached out to brush the coarse hair that was messily twisted in numerous spots. “You don’t exactly like it when I brush your hair, I know, bu–,”

The rest of his sentence caught painfully in his throat when a sudden heat and pressure enveloped his extended hand, startling him. Blinking rapidly, Marco realized that Gaou’s massive hand had reached out and caught hold his own. Feeling the blood drain from his face in an immediate reaction of panic, it took everything in Marco’s power not to jerk away from the frightening scene, but instead, with exceptional self-restraint, he held still, eyes staring at where his pale hand had been moments ago.

When Marco begrudgingly dragged his line of sight to Gaou’s face, he discovered his teammate staring at him in a protracted way, expression chillingly deadpan. There was no hint of a smile or frown on his lips, his cheeks slack and eyebrows relaxed – but rather, the look in his eyes held more than enough. Marco tried to swallow again, willing the tightness in his throat to ease, but it refused to dissipate as he stared back at the unnerving intensity that was Gaou’s gaze.

It could have only been a few moments, but it felt like hours, and when Marco felt a rush of blood flood to his cheeks, he looked away and laughed nervously. “Sorry,” his voice felt unsteady, but he couldn’t tell if it sounded that way. “I should have asked before doing that. Ah, that was pretty weird, I’d say…” Forcing a chuckle that came out more guttural than he had intended, Marco tugged lightly on his arm, willing Gaou to release him. When the pressure around his hand didn’t cease – in fact, he could swear that it increased at this point – Marco felt his heartbeat spike aggressively, an irregular, panicked rhythm within his chest.

“It’s okay, Gaou, you can let go now. I won’t do that again w-without asking.” Somehow, the warmth of Gaou’s hand was making him feel… strange. Furrowing his brow at the heated sensation crawling across his face and chest, Marco pulled again, desperate at this point to escape from Gaou’s piercing gaze and threatening aura. Maybe he shouldn’t have offered…

“Marco.”

The sudden word from Gaou startled him. While it contained Gaou’s usual gruff demeanor, it sounded faintly bizarre to Marco, prompting him to look from the large fist in his field of view to Gaou’s face. There was an abrupt tightening sensation around his hand and he made a noise of protest, his panic beginning to show on his flushed face. “G-Gaou, wait, I–,”

Almost as soon as the exchange had started, it seemed to dissipate into thin air as Gaou’s thick fingers retracted away from Marco’s and gently slid along the back of his hand. Shifting his eyes rapidly between their hands and Gaou’s unreadable face, Marco held his breath, overwhelmed by a poisonous curiosity intertwining with a desperate urge to flee. The feeling of coarse hair suddenly appeared against Marco’s fingertips and he realized that Gaou had pulled his hand closer and pressed it against his hair while he was distracted with his frantic thoughts.

“It’s messy.” The enormous boy seemed to sigh, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again to stare at Marco with the same intense gaze as before.

Although it seemed impossible, Marco could’ve sworn that he could feel his eyes opened even wider. He was about to soil himself out of fear over what Gaou was planning, and _that_ was what he was thinking of? Making Marco touch it more?

“A-Ah, yeah, you’re right, it _is_ pretty messy…” Gaou’s hand dropped away from Marco’s, allowing him the freedom to move. He couldn’t settle down though – he could still feel Gaou staring at him, dark eyes like daggers against his sensitive flesh. Feeling pressured, Marco dusted his fingers over the dark strands of his teammate’s hair mindlessly. He was surprised by the thickness of Gaou’s hair and caught himself studying it quite intently for a moment or two. “Do you ever brush it on your own?” Marco’s fingers danced over the prickly hair while he spoke, his expression concentrated.

“No,” Gaou replied, turning away. Marco frowned as his fingers were left outstretched in mid-air, nothing to stimulate his sense of touch. He was quick to pull his hand away though, feeling embarrassed by the gesture he had just performed. _Awkward, I’d say… I should stop doing weird things…_ Touching his wrist anxiously with the hand still holding the hairbrush, Marco followed Gaou to the other side of the locker room, his steps much shallower and quieter than his counterpart.

When he finally caught up to Gaou, Marco saw that he had set himself down on the floor in front of a cheap, aluminum folding chair. He was crossing his legs matter of factly with an apathetic expression, eyes staring forward as if he was just willing time to pass by swiftly. _Of course he wouldn’t look enthusiastic…_ Marco chided himself for even considering the idea. The few times they had done this before, he prompted it solely because seeing Gaou’s messy, tangled hair irritated him immensely. He didn’t have an affinity for cleanliness exactly, but he couldn’t stand seeing his best lineman’s hair looking like a rat’s nest every single day.

Perching himself on the edge of the chair, Marco inched the rickety frame closer to Gaou’s towering form. Even with him sitting down on the floor and Marco in a chair, Gaou was too tall. It was annoying, to say the least, but he would have to deal with what was available. There _was_ the option of standing up while Gaou sat on the floor but brushing his hair took so long and required so much physical work that Marco tired quickly. Yes... he’d just have to deal with this.

“Ready?” Marco said quietly, tilting himself to try and look at Gaou’s face. Even when he extended himself far enough to almost fall out of the chair, he couldn’t see past Gaou’s wild mane.

“Uh huh,” Gaou mumbled, raising a large hand and waving it once dismissively. Marco raised an eyebrow slowly in response, but said no more, turning his attention to the ends of Gaou’s hair that extended down to the middle of his back.

The hair wasn’t damaged beyond not being cared for properly – there wasn’t much in terms of heat treatment damage, since Gaou didn’t style his hair and probably didn’t care what temperature his shower water was. Even so, there were enough split ends to notice, and Marco grimaced at the sight. He would have to remember to ask Gaou, casually… carefully… if he could trim the ends at another time. Not this time – Marco felt as if he had narrowly escaped death already, and he hadn’t even put the bristles of the brush to Gaou’s hair once yet. Taking a shallow, slightly nervous breath, Marco gently grabbed a handful of the rough hair, lifting it a bit into the light.

It was a long process - so long that Marco wondered if the store would still be open so he could get a bottle of cola to drink on his way home – but it was steady work, and that was something Marco could be thankful for. His mind wandered at times, but it was okay, since Gaou wasn’t much for talking in the first place. When he did speak, it was a new conversation, and nothing that required deep thought. Eventually, after getting the worst of the knots out of Gaou’s hair, the activity became almost pleasant. The atmosphere was much more relaxed and Gaou seemed different in a way – not that Marco could exactly explain what was different; it was just a gut feeling of sorts.

“Okay,” Marco started again, laughing lightly. “Then if that one was too easy for you: Would you rather… become a vegetarian… or have to eat raw meat for the rest of your life? 

The break in conversation wasn’t very brief after Marco’s question; immediately, Gaou turned his shoulders, yanking the handful of hair that Marco had been absently brushing from his hands. He probably didn’t feel it, though, because his face was contorted in an expression of immense disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?” When Marco stared back at Gaou with an innocent expression, eyes wide, Gaou scoffed and turned back around, allowing Marco to resume his brushing. “I’d eat raw meat, of course.”

“Wait, wait! Okay, wait!” Marco was having a hard time getting his voice out between bouts of laughter, Gaou’s incredulous expression just making it even more amusing. He pressed his free hand against his chest and tried to take a deep breath while laughing uncontrollably. “Would you.. wait, aha... would you rather–,”

“Shouldn’t it be my turn? You’ve been going on with it for a long time, Marco.”

“Ah, you want to ask, too? Well, sure. No harm in going back and forth, I’d say.” Still a bit short of breath, Marco tried to settle his fluttering heart and soothe his protesting lungs, a wide grin spread across his face. “Go ahead, I’m waiting.”

Gaou was silent for a while. Marco took the time to continue brushing his hair. They had been here for quite some time now – his hair was essentially all taken care of, but Marco couldn’t really bring himself to stand up and tell Gaou they were all done. Instead, he kept grooming the mane of hair before him, thoughtlessly admiring how much softer it felt after being brushed so thoroughly.

Too shy to consciously admit it to even himself, Marco was having too much fun to let it end so soon.

Letting the long strands of Gaou’s hair slide through his thin fingers, Marco slid the bristles of the brush through the dark hair, feeling his attention in the game falter. If Gaou actually took care of his hair better, it’d be very pretty hair. He would have to suggest hair care products to his teammate and see if he could convince Gaou to use any of them in his free time. Perhaps if the brute of a high schooler allowed Marco to brush his hair, he might find a little more interest in his own hair from time to time… But then again, it was Gaou, after all.

The charming silence between them was broken by Gaou’s husky voice, drawing Marco out of his thoughts. “Would you rather quit football or never talk to me again?”

Marco stopped the downward stroke of the brush, his eyes freezing in place. Did he just hear Gaou right? _Football… or–_ The air around him suddenly felt very thick and devoid of oxygen, making his head spin. Marco curled his bottom lip and bit it lightly, feeling the warmth return to his cheeks, dusting his face in a pleasant pink. Listening closely, there wasn’t any other noise in the room, so there was no way he _could_ have misheard him. Additionally, it wasn’t like Gaou spoke quietly at any given time – his voice was deep and he spoke with a decent volume most of the time.

Swallowing the small lump that had formed in his throat at some point, Marco resumed his brushing silently, staring fixatedly at the hair in front of him. What kind of question was that? Was Gaou asking if they were friends? Sinking his teeth into the flesh of his lip, Marco’s subconscious nodded nervously. That _had_ to be the meaning – before now, neither of them had ever called each other friends, at least not out loud. It wouldn’t be abnormal for Gaou to wonder if they were more than just teammates, especially not after this extra time they occasionally spent together. Mere acquaintances didn’t usually hang out together like this, did they?

Feeling satisfied for the most part, Marco tried to convince himself of that conclusion, but he felt the edges of his mind withering anxiously in the most unpleasant way.

What if Marco was _underthinking_ Gaou’s question?

As he was about to come up with some sort of desperate answer to the inquiry, there was a loud bang somewhere off in the back room, startling Marco enough that he dropped the brush. The clatter of the plastic on the porcelain floor combined with the unbearably loud thrum of Marco’s heartbeat in his ears created a deafening cacophony. Stumbling a bit in his pained daze, he stood up abruptly, pushing the chair back awkwardly.

“What was that?”

Gaou didn’t say anything at first – in fact, he didn’t move either – but eventually Marco could hear his voice over the sound of his erratic pulse.

“Probably just the ventilation shaft or the walls settling. This building is pretty old, after all. The foundation could be bad.” Slowly, Gaou planted the hands that had been curled up in his lap against the floor and pushed himself up in one, startlingly fluid motion. Marco blinked, surprised at how agile the lineman could be when he wanted to be.

Stooping to pick up the hairbrush he had dropped, Marco cleared his throat and tightened the knot of his tie, since he had loosened it earlier in preparation for this arduous task. “Pretty creepy, I’d say.” After setting the hairbrush aside on a table to the far south side of the building, Marco absently rubbed at his left wrist, eyes darting to the bottle of cola he had left near the entrance some time ago.

“Well, your hair is mostly done anyway, so we should probably go. It’s going to be getting dark out there…” Marco mumbled while skirting around a pole erected in the middle of the room. Gaou hadn’t moved far from where he had initially stood, but Marco was careful to keep a cautious eye on him, out of mere instinct. First and foremost, though…

Cola bottle back in his hand, Marco sighed pleasantly. “You have everything you need, Gaou?” The quarterback arched his eyebrows questioningly and raised the glass bottle to his lips, sipping at the dark liquid. He immediately recoiled – the fizz had depleted and the drink was now flat. “Gross,” he coughed, exaggeratingly holding the bottle away from him and looking at it with a disgusted face.

“Uh huh.” Gaou turned to his locker and grabbed something – from the size, Marco could guess that it was the cell phone that he forced him to keep on his person – and closed it with an unnecessarily loud clatter of jarring metal. Out of habit, Marco made a disapproving face, but waved his displeasure away fairly quickly.

_Football? Or… Gaou?_

Marco felt the unpleasant taste of the flat soda on his tongue grow sour with the memory of Gaou’s question. Such a strange question… Even though he had managed to get out of answering the initial inquiry due to the unusual racket, it plagued Marco with a similar amount of persistence. It left an unsettling feeling in his chest, the words rolling through his head like a recording playing on repeat.

Swirling the cola in the bottle, Marco habitually patted his left pocket and realized that he had left his own cell phone in the back room when he was changing into his regular clothes earlier. “Ah, I forgot something. You can head out, I’ll lock up behind you.” Producing the locker room keys from the back pocket of his slacks, Marco smiled coolly, jingling them to draw Gaou’s attention to the silver keyring. Gaou gave an affirming grunt and lumbered to the door, shoulders rolling as if he were sore. _Sitting too long?_ Marco snickered to himself and turned to go fetch his phone.

“Marco,”

The team captain stopped, turning on his heel with a curious look on his face. Gaou had stopped in front of the closed door and called out to him, one of his hands on the door knob. “Yeah?” Marco answered, raising an eyebrow and softly blowing hair out of his face. He stopped swirling his cola bottle and tilted his head, watching Gaou open the door with a curiously quiet rasp and step forward into the doorway.

“For brushing my hair… Thank you.” The words seemed almost too far away to hear, and by the time Marco had grasped them, Gaou had left, leaving the door to the building wide open. The front room seemed eerily cold suddenly, and it wasn’t from the gentle breeze entering through the doorway. Marco shivered, feeling goosebumps rise on his upper arms. Gaou… had said thank you.

Thank you…

Marco reached a hand up and lowered his head in one fluid motion, touching his fingertips to his forehead while a smirk crawled across his face. The breeze tossed his hair playfully over his skin, tickling it while he smiled to himself in the empty room.

_Well… I think I could live without football if I really needed to._

**Author's Note:**

> I might make this into a piece with multiple chapters (budding romance, anyone?) - maybe, maybe - but I want to see how it goes first. I enjoyed exploring their dynamics for the first time and I think their interactions are quite refreshing, though!


End file.
